An Ode to Ashland City: a loving tribute to a town that smells of diesel fumes, regrets, and whatever that is coming from the river

By virtue of providing the only river crossing within a multiple-county radius, plus its geographic location smack-dab between Clarksville and Nashville, Ashland City is, essentially, a crossroads town.

Few folks actually come here on purpose. For most travelers, it is a quaint collection of antique buildings to glance at while waiting in traffic between more interesting destinations.

Situated on the corner of the town’s main intersection is a small Mexican restaurant. The front wall is mostly glass, offering a panoramic view of the town square: populated by the courthouse and a colorful assortment of lawyer’s and round-the-clock bail bonds offices. It is the best spot in town for watching people pass by… or various species of birds as they shit majestically on the antebellum courthouse’s roof.

Holiday decorations class up what is essentially the world’s largest bird communal toilet.

The view is so romantic, in fact, that locals often spontaneously propose to their sweeties over by the quarter slime dispenser. The way the midday sun catches the car exhaust billowing from muffler-less camouflage monster trucks is the stuff that magic is made of. When those wondrous fumes combine with the rich fragrance of a plate of soggy enchiladas, it is said that an angel gets its wings. (Which you can purchase with either mild or spicy dipping sauce at the chicken shop next door.)

No, folks who pass through without taking note of the town’s hidden treasures will never know the delights of the nightly caterwauling of our karaoke bars, or the musical harmony of Cheatham County’s finest careening down the avenue, sirens-a-blazin’. It’s traditional to stop whatever you’re doing and salute as they pass. You never know if they’re hauling one of your relatives to the pokey, so you always want to stay in their good graces. (Sending Thanksgiving turkeys to the bail bonds offices is a relatively new holiday tradition.)

Nighttime at the Bail Bonds house is one of the town’s best-kept secrets. Every fifth bond comes with a t-shirt and free balloons for the kids.

Even the local McDonald’s celebrates the spirit of community by intentionally slowing the drive-through to near-catatonic levels. This encourages everyone in line to show their love and support with courtesy honks. (The louder you honk, the more town spirit you have!)

Some say the railroad industry took a nosedive when the townsfolk dug up the tracks to make room for a new walking trail, but I say those discarded timbers give the woods personality. “Hey, kids, can you spot the rotting, termite-infested remnants of a once-thriving economy? C’mon, Charlene, don’t hit your brother. We can’t afford to bail you out of juvie again this month! Oh, look, an acorn.”

I know, you’re probably thinking, “Toph, old bean, are you trying to seduce us with your town’s rich culture and history?” No, friends, I don’t need to slap any butter on this sales biscuit. Next time you’re passing through, stop by one of our illustrious gas stations or fine automotive parts establishments. Tell me if you’re not dazzled by our rich atmosphere of slight disappointment.

You’ll barely regret it.